


Hear It Like a Drum in Your Head

by sonoflight



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M, maybe some angst but just a little, mostly cute and hopefully funny, no smut though sorry dudes, sorry about that but I think I'm gonna roll with it, whoops well this is getting infinitely darker than I ever intended
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 03:12:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5951656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonoflight/pseuds/sonoflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They say everyone’s born with a guardian— usually an angel, but sometimes, in strange twists of fate, it’s a demon.  That doesn’t mean the person lives any less full of a life or that they’re inherently cursed or doomed to hell; it just means they have to be more careful around people.  See, angels and demons don’t mix well, and if you’ve got a demon hanging around, it’s best to not get close to someone with an angel.  It just doesn’t end well.  So people with guardian angels interact with, befriend, and fall in love with other people who have guardian angels, and people with guardian demons do the same with their own kind.  No big deal.  That’s just how the world works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, this is my first fic attempt. No promises about anything but I'll try to pay attention to this. So yeah, if you're reading this, thanks a bunch, and I hope I don't disappoint.

Joe isn’t stalking Racetraitor. And he definitely isn’t stalking them because of their drummer. Except he is. He doesn’t mean to—not really at least. It’s just that when he goes to one show out of curiosity, he sees the frantic madness with which the guy hits his drums and the wild way his hair flies as he plays like an animal, and it captivates him like nothing else. It makes him want more of the loud, fast music pumping through the small club, more of the angry energy that hits him hard in the chest with every beat. So he decides he’ll go for another show. And another one. And more after that, until he’s practically following Racetraitor around on their tour. Definitely not stalking.

It’s after one such show that Joe finally gets to meet the object of fascination— Andy Hurley, drummer of Racetraitor. To be fair, it’s more like Joe “accidentally” bumps into a heavily tattooed, hair-pulled-back-into-a-ponytail guy carrying some of the band’s gear to a group of trailers outside. Nope, it is definitely not his intention to initiate conversation with the legendary Hurley.

“Sorry!” he exclaims, patting the (kind of short now that he's seeing him up close) guy on the shoulder awkwardly. The drummer glares and sets his load down next to one of the trailers.

“Like hell you are.” Joe furrows his brow, and Andy rolls his eyes, turning and putting his hands on his hips. “Oh don’t play dumb with me, kid. I know you’ve been at the last dozen shows without fail and I know you’ve been following this tour around, so don’t act like you did that on accident and don’t act like you don’t know who I am.” Joe just stares at him dumbly until he quirks an expectant eyebrow at him.

“Uh—oh, um—yeah… yeah you’re Andy Hurley, a-and I’m Joe. Joe Trohman.” He sticks out a hand awkwardly. He wants to die he’s so embarrassed. “Nice to meet you?” He swears his heart stops beating in the second it takes Andy to break out into a wide grin and shake his hand with a loud laugh.

“Good to meet you too, kid. Sorry, I couldn’t help but scare ya a bit.” Joe laughs nervously, feeling slightly less like he wants to die of embarrassment. “I’m not usually the member who gets fan attention, so I thought I’d have my fun with it,” Andy continues, not seeming to notice how Joe hangs onto his every word. “C’mon, help me with this shit and maybe I’ll buy you a coffee.” Joe doesn’t even have to think about it before he’s grabbing a guitar and bringing it to a trailer.

 

_They say everyone’s born with a guardian— usually an angel, but sometimes, in strange twists of fate, it’s a demon. That doesn’t mean the person lives any less full of a life or that they’re inherently cursed or doomed to hell; it just means they have to be more careful around people. See, angels and demons don’t mix well, and if you’ve got a demon hanging around, it’s best to not get close to someone with an angel. It just doesn’t end well. So people with guardian angels interact with, befriend, and fall in love with other people who have guardian angels, and people with guardian demons do the same with their own kind. No big deal. That’s just how the world works._

 

Joe laughs at some lame joke Andy makes about the painting hanging on the wall above their table, and Andy hides his smile by sipping from his coffee cup. The painting in question depicts a strawberry with an angel by it and a piece of chocolate with a demon by it, the angel and demon locked in a fierce battle. It’s probably supposed to be some deep message about the sins of gluttony, but all Joe can think of is how counterproductive the painting is because in his experience, strawberries and chocolate go marvelously together.

Andy must be thinking the same thing because a moment later he says quietly, “Y’know, I’m not sure if the artist was trying to warn people against letting their complimentary features overrule the societal expectations to keep angels and demons apart, or if they were trying to show how even if two people’s guardians want them apart, they should try to exist in harmony anyways.” Joe nods, mulling over the idea silently.

“Hey Andy,” he finally says.

“Yeah?”

“What’s your guardian creature?” Andy’s mouth twitches into a slight frown but he doesn’t react past that. After a moment of silence, Joe prods Andy’s leg with his foot.

“Hm? Oh, um,” Andy looks down at his coffee. “You first. You asked the question, so you answer.”

“Angel,” Joe says without hesitation. “Mine’s an angel named—“

“Patrick,” a man says, striding over and standing next to Joe. “I’m Patrick.” Joe sighs. Impeccable timing as always. Patrick tips his baseball cap at Andy politely before pulling up a chair and sitting down with them. He folds his hands on the table, tugging the sleeves down over his hands to keep them warm. He offers Andy a smile, which Andy returns shyly.

“I- I should go then,” he mumbles, starting to stand up. Joe reaches out and grabs his arm.

“What? Why? Patrick’s harmless, he-“

“Because we’re not compatible, Joe,” Andy snaps. “Okay? This-“ he waves his hand in a vague gesture. “I dunno. This friendship, this anything, just- it won’t work. It won’t, so why even try?” Joe gets it a second later when another guy— Joe vaguely recognizes him as the bassist in Andy’s band— walks up behind Andy and smack his ass. Andy yelps in surprise and gives the man a strong punch to the shoulder.

“What the-“ Patrick disappears without warning, and Joe turns his look of bewilderment on Andy. “Holy fuck dude, you-“

“Yeah,” Andy manages through gritted teeth. The Racetraitor bassist is hanging off of Andy with a wide smile on his face, completely ignoring the tension he’s creating. “I have a demon.” Andy sighs. “Hey Pete.”

“Hey yourself, Hurley Burly!” He plants a kiss on Andy’s cheek, receiving an exasperated eye roll in return. “We almost left without you, dude. Lucky for you, your favorite hellion was looking out for his one and only, but I guess I didn’t have to.” He fixes his eyes on Joe, giving him a far too extensive once over, and Joe feels vaguely like he wants to crawl out of his skin. “Looks like you’ve finally found yourself some… entertainment.” Joe really wants to get out of this coffee shop.

“Fuck off, Pete. He’s a kid.” Pete snorts.

“Is not. He’s gotta be at least eighteen. How old are you, kid?” It takes Joe a moment to register that Pete’s talking to him.

“What? Oh, I’m nineteen.” Pete flashes him a dazzling smile and slaps Andy on the back.  
“See? Not so bad, man. Oh, dude,” he smiles at Joe again. God, Joe’s never seen anyone smile this much, let alone a minion of hell. “Where’d that cute little angel of yours go? I wanted to meet him, but he beat it before I could get here.”

Andy slugs Pete in the shoulder. “Ow, dude, what the fuck?” Pete whines, earning him an even harder punch. “That wasn’t even a sex joke until you made it one.”

“Yeah, but you thought it, asshole,” Andy mutters. Pete just grins and ruffles Andy’s hair as the latter gets to his feet. “Well, it was—it was nice meeting you, Joe. Thanks for the coffee, and, um, thanks for coming out to the show. I, uh, I—I really appreciate it. Maybe I’ll see you around.” Joe opens his mouth to say something, but Andy’s gone with Pete in tow before the words leave his mouth. He sighs into his coffee and stands up, only to come face to face with Patrick.

“Joe,” Patrick says. “Sit back down.” Joe hesitates but sits down because he does trusts Patrick, pushy as he can be.

“Patrick, I don’t think—“

“Shut up and listen, dude,” Patrick snaps. “You can’t go back to those Racetraitor shows. Not with that… that thing playing up there. He’s not safe. I mean, Andy seems like a great guy, but his little plus one? He’s trouble. He just—he gives me bad vibes.” Joe rolls his eyes.

“Dude, he’s a demon. You’re an angel. Of course he gives you bad vibes, it’s in your job description. I really think you’re overreacting.” Patrick’s jaw tenses and he bites his lip. Joe knows him well enough to recognize that as his “I’m trying to put this nicely but there’s no good way to say this and I’m thinking about what I should say because unlike you I have a filter” face.

“It’s something different. I’ve never felt like this about any other demon, okay? Just trust me when I say you don’t want to be near him more than you have to. And since you don’t have to be near him at all, you should stay far, far away from him. For your own safety. And mine. Because, y’know. Demons, angels… yeah, that tends to not end well.” Joe snorts out a laugh, but from the look on Patrick’s face, he doesn’t find it quite as amusing. “I’m serious Joe, if I find out you go to another Racetraitor show, I’ll—I’ll,” Patrick fumbles for a threat. “I’ll tell God!”

Joe laughs outright at that. “And what’s cloud man gonna do, ground me? C’mon Patrick, lighten up, dude. Pete’s not gonna steal my innocence if I go to another show. Not that there’s any innocence left in me anyways.” He waggles his eyebrows at his blushing angel.

“Shut up. Just because one time—“ Joe shushes him, barely containing his laughter.

“It’s okay, man. I remember the deal. We never speak of it again, yeah? Come on dude, let’s go home.” Patrick shoots him a half-hearted glare before standing and following him out the door.

“Remind me to write God a recommendation to send you to hell when I get a chance,” he mutters. Joe grins and slings an arm around Patrick’s shoulders.

“Alright dude,” Joe laughs. Patrick sighs, but leans into Joe’s side anyways. “You do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgot to mention that from an appearance standpoint, think Folie à Deux era. And the title is inspired by lyrics from "Sleeping Torpor" by Anathallo. Thank you for reading, and I'll try to continue updating weekly (spoiler alert: I'm failing at that).

The moment Andy and Pete are alone in their apartment, Andy slams Pete up against a wall angrily. One of the perks of getting to the home stretch of a tour is that Andy can stay at his own place and just drive out to the last few venues. Perfect for kicking his obnoxious guardian’s ass in private. Pete grins sheepishly at Andy, and Andy doesn’t even think before slamming his fist into his face.

  
“You asshole!” he yells. “Why can’t you just stay away long enough for me to make normal friends, huh?” He can feel himself shaking with rage, but he doesn’t care. Usually he’s pretty cool with Pete shadowing his every move, but he’s sick of only having friends that: a. have demons of their own or b. have angels that can actually put up with Pete. “Why does my life have to be dictated by you and your fucking awful habits of scaring everybody away? If you would just let me live my own independent life and quit reminding me that I’ve got a de—“

  
“Look,” Pete interjects, irritation evident in his voice. “Look, Andy, I know what I am, who I am… You really don’t need to remind me every time something like this happens. Seriously, you’ll live without that Joe kid or whoever else you’re angry you can’t hang with. That’s what the band’s for, isn’t it? You’ve got a tight group of friends that get you, and I like that group a lot, dude. They’re great guys, so—“

  
“Oh, sure. Of course you think they’re great guys. I’m not saying they aren’t, but I don’t care what you think about them. You’d probably think the same thing if I hung out with murderers and thieves because you’re a fucking resident of hell!”

  
“Fuck you, man,” Pete snarls, his eyes flashing with hurt and anger, and Andy suddenly wishes he could take it back. “You know that’s not my job. I thought you understood that guardian demons aren’t a one way ticket to hell! I thought you knew it’s not that fucking simple!” Andy’s heart sinks when Pete’s expression changes to that malicious sneer that means he’s about to go for the low blow. “I guess you really are every bit as stupid as they told me you’d be—probably more.” And with that, he disappears, leaving Andy alone in his suddenly too silent apartment.

  
Andy walks slowly to his room, heart heavy in his chest, and curls up on his bed, fighting tears. He hates that Pete knows him well enough to hurt him with one well-placed insult. He hates that he doesn’t know Pete well enough to get back at him. And usually when he’s this upset, he just calls for Pete, and Pete lets him cry into his shoulder and holds him and tells him it’ll all be alright. So he mostly hates that he wishes he weren’t mad at Pete. A frustrated cry wells up in his throat and he buries his face in his pillow, letting out shaky breaths and forcing himself to hold his tears. He’s not giving Pete that satisfaction this time.

  
He doesn’t quite realize that he falls asleep, but when he wakes up, it’s morning and the sun is shining… and there’s no hyperactive Pete brutally rousing him from his sleep. He grabs his phone and checks the time. 11:49 am. Which means he already slept through half the day, but he justifies it with the thought that he deserves a break after last night’s incident.

  
He lies on his back, staring up at his ceiling, considering his options for the day. Maybe he can go somewhere—without worrying about babysitting Pete, since he probably won’t be back for a while. That’s usually how their fights play out anyways. Something happens, they scream at and insult each other, Pete disappears to go sulk somewhere else and Andy either cries or tries really hard not to, they avoid each other until one of them comes running back with his tail between his legs and apologizes, they make up, they go on with their lives.

  
If he’s being perfectly honest with himself, he wants more than anything to call Pete and ask him to come back, tell him he’s sorry, but at the same time, he’s still pissed enough that he wants to make _Pete_ come begging for forgiveness.

  
He rolls out of bed and trudges to the bathroom to wash his face, changes to a clean T-shirt and jeans, and chucks his dirty clothes into a hamper. Almost as an afterthought, he swings by Pete’s room and picks up every stray scrap of clothing lying on the floor and throws that in the hamper too. He honest to God (Satan?) doesn’t know why his apartment is overrun with more of Pete’s shit than his own. It’s not like demons and angels need human clothes or really any material things since they can all do that freaky thing where they change clothes with a snap of their fingers and can will pretty much any object into existence. Do all guardians live with their charges the way Pete lives with him? Or is that just a Pete thing? He makes a mental note to ask Pete next time he’s not pissed off at him.

  
After cleaning up Pete’s stuff, he grabs a pair of shoes and slides them on, throws on a hoodie, and pulls his hair back into a ponytail. He saw a poster for some live music out at his favorite park starting at 7:00, so he might as well check that out. On his way out the door, he picks a book off the shelf at random; he’ll have quite a few hours to kill once he gets to the park.

  
Walking to the park, Andy is on edge, waiting for Pete to appear and destroy the peace, but he’s possibly a bit disappointed when he gets to the park without even a remote sign that Pete’s shadowing him. Heaving a sigh, he sits down on one of the old wooden benches that sag just enough to remind people that they need to be replaced but not enough that anyone’s afraid they’ll give out and opens his book. Not many park-goers use the benches anyways; they’re for the tired, the bored, the romantics, and the homeless. He’s got to be at least one of those, right?

  
The bench is close to the humble stage, which is almost as pitiful as the benches, giving Andy what will become the perfect view the moment the musicians take the stage. He sits there almost statue-like, frozen save for his mindlessly skimming eyes passing over the pages and the robotic turn of those same pages—a metronome created by his hand—until the light begins to fade and the booming voice of the announcer signals the start of the night. He closes his book and looks up to the stage.

  
The first act is a pianist who plays some baroque piece that Andy doesn’t quite catch the name of. Then there’s a little punk band that plays so that the stage seems about to collapse beneath their feet. An a cappella group goes next; Andy almost recognizes the song, but he can’t quite place it. A woodwind quintet performs a couple of short dance pieces, followed by a saxophone quartet that plays some smooth jazz that lulls Andy off into a light sleep that he’s rudely awakened from when a full orchestra plays Mars from Holst’s The Planets. How the old stage supports so many people, Andy doesn’t know.

  
He’s still rubbing the grogginess from his eyes when the announcer calls the next group. “Next up, we have our favorite guitar-playing duo, Joe Trohman and Patrick Stump!” Andy thinks he’s heard wrong until a familiar mop of dark curls and bright blue eyes emerges from backstage, followed by the telltale combination of outlandish sideburns and questionable fashion. Definitely the Joe and Patrick that Andy feared it was.

  
“Hi guys,” Joe says into the mic, as Patrick sets up their stools. “I’m Joe, that’s Patrick, and we’re going to play an original song tonight.” A cheer goes up from the crowd, and Andy gets the impression that Joe and Patrick perform at these live music nights frequently. “This is the first time anyone but us has heard this, so don’t like throw any tomatoes at us if you hate it.” That gets a few chuckles and Joe smiles shyly. “This is called 20 Dollar Nose Bleed.” Joe sits down next to Patrick, they grin at each other, and then the song begins.

  
Their voices fit together nicely and they play with each other in that smooth way that implies they’ve played together long enough to be completely comfortable with the other’s style. It’s the kind of synchronization that Andy and Pete have when they’re not fighting, and Andy feels a twinge of jealousy.

  
They finish their song and leave the stage, chased by the cheers from the crowd. Andy doesn’t really hear the rest of the acts because he’s scanning the park to see where Joe and Patrick went. He spots the punk band sitting off to the side of the stage, right next to the sax quartet, and sandwiched between them, Joe and Patrick sit, Joe talking with the punk band and Patrick doing the same with the sax players. As soon as the group currently playing finishes, Andy heads over to them.

  
Patrick sees him first and pales a little, but his expression eases when he doesn’t see any obvious sign of Pete. He leans over and says something to Joe, who looks up and grins at Andy, waving him over.

  
“Andy!” he exclaims, standing up as Andy approaches. “Fancy meeting you here!” He pulls Andy into a hug, and Andy reciprocates the action. “How’d you like the song?”

  
“It was incredible,” Andy enthuses. “I love the combo of your voices and guitar styles.” Patrick stands up next to Joe to join the conversation, but his eyes are darting around nervously. “Pete didn’t come, don’t worry,” Andy assures quickly. We..." he scrambles for an excuse. "We cancelled tonight's show and he got pissed and ran off. So, uh," he says, changing the subject. “You guys wrote that?”

  
“Yeah,” Joe says, clapping Patrick on the back. “This dude’s great. He’s got real soul and a voice of gold.” Patrick snorts and shoves Joe lightly.

  
“Shut up, man, you’re just as good.” He smiles at Andy. “Joe does all the hard stuff to make it sound like a real song. I just write the basic melody to give us a rough sketch to work on.”

  
“Who wrote the lyrics?”

  
“Both of us,” Joe says. “Neither of us are really poets, but I think we make a pretty strong team when we put our heads together.” He grins at Patrick. “I don’t really know what I’d do without my little elf helper.” That one earns him a hard punch to the shoulder and a scowl. “Ow, dude, what the fuck?”

  
“Language,” Patrick grumbles.

  
“Sorry, but seriously, what was that for?”

  
“For calling me an elf. I’m an angel, and elves are fake.”

  
“Whatever, you still remind me of an elf.” Patrick rolls his eyes.

  
“Fine. I guess you’re not getting any help on that paper you haven’t done that’s due tomorrow morning.”

  
“What? No fair, you have to help me.”

  
“Take it back.”

  
“No way, dude. Please just help me this one time.”

  
“Tough luck.”

  
“Fine, fine, fine. Patrick, I’m sorry I called you an elf. Now please help me write my paper?” Patrick is silent, and Andy has to suppress a laugh. This reminds him of his relationship with Pete, except it’s usually Pete begging and Andy giving him a hard time. “Aw, no, come on now. Please?” Patrick looks away. “Dude.”

  
“Alright, but you do the next one on your own, got it?” Joe nods solemnly.  “Good. So, Andy.”

  
“Yeah?” He’s surprised Patrick hasn’t chased him away from Joe yet, seeing as how Pete could, in theory, appear at any moment.

  
“Where’s Pete? I mean, I know he's allegedly run off, but still, I hope he’s not lurking somewhere around here.”  And there it is.

  
“Probably sulking down in hell.” Patrick raises an eyebrow. “We’re kind of in a more personal fight too,” Andy supplies. “So we’re getting some space from each other.”

  
“Guardians aren’t supposed to fight with their charges,” Patrick says pointedly, and he’s right. Andy hates to admit it, but he knows his fights with Pete are just a little out of the ordinary. He once read a book about the nature of guardian angels and demons, and it said that guardians are assigned based on the baby’s temperament. That way a human and their guardian are at least somewhat compatible.

  
“Yeah, I know. Pete’s a little difficult at times. It’s hard to have friends because of him. He tends to scare off other guardians. Even demons sometimes. And, y’know, I really wish I knew why.”

  
“I’m sorry, Andy,” Patrick offers. “You might want to talk to him about that sometime. Maybe ask him to tone down the evil a little bit?”

  
“Hey Patrick,” Joe calls. Andy hadn’t even noticed him walk away, but he’s currently kneeling by a couple of guitar cases, packing up their gear. “We should probably head home so I can finish that paper.”

  
“Just a second,” Patrick calls back. He turns back to Andy. “Seriously, you should talk this out. It’s not healthy to fight with the one being who’s supposed to fit with you like a puzzle piece.” Patrick presses a slip of paper into his hand. “Here. This has Joe’s and my numbers. Call if you need anything.” He turns abruptly away and heads over to Joe. Andy wants to call out and ask them to stay for a while, but it gets caught in his throat.

  
Joe waves goodbye before turning and walking away with Patrick. Andy waves back belatedly and ends up waving goodbye to their backs. He feels a strange sensation come over him that can only mean one thing, and he turns slowly. There in the middle of the park stands Pete, watching him with dark eyes, and the air around him simmers with his heat.

  
They stay like that, eyes locked on each other, for what feels like forever, until Andy blinks and Pete’s gone. Andy stands there silently in the now empty park.

  
Alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One other thing: I haven't really gone back and proofread anything, so if you find any errors, please let me know. Thanks! Tumblr: [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm so sorry I didn't update last week like I planned to. The best explanation would be W.A.M.S. Writer. Actor. Musician. Suffering in school. Anywho, I'll try and do better next chapter. But new characters yay!

“Joe.” Joe rolls onto his stomach, away from the gentle voice rousing him from his sleep. “Joe, wake up.”

“Nrgh,” Joe mumbles. “Fuck off, Patrick.”

“Language, dude, and c’mon, get up, you’ve got class.” Joe grumbles weakly as Patrick shakes his shoulder in an attempt to wake him, and he protests louder when the covers are pulled off him.

“Patrick, what the fuck. ‘M tryna sleep here.”

“I said, language,” Patrick reiterates in his usual sing-song way, only slightly more insistently. Joe’s grown accustomed to how Patrick always sounds like he’s soothing a baby to sleep, even when he’s annoyed—never angry though. Joe’s never seen Patrick get angry, and he sometimes wonders if he’s capable of anger. But as beautiful as Patrick sounds, Joe really wishes he would shut up and let him sleep. So what if he’s got class? He—

“Remember that paper we stayed up ‘til three working on?” Patrick prods.

“The paper…” Joe shoots awake. “Holy shit, the paper!” He leaps out of bed, scrambling to get all his things together while simultaneously attempting to wriggle into a hopefully clean pair of jeans. “Shitshitshitshitshit,” he mutters, digging through the stack of papers on his desk. “Where the fuck—“ He whirls around when Patrick clears his throat and holds out his research paper. “Oh thank god… angel… whatever.” He snatches his backpack off the floor, haphazardly tosses what he needs inside, and dashes out the door. He crosses his fingers that Patrick will lock up behind him as he sprints for class. He’s never been late for class in his life, and he doesn’t plan on starting now.

Joe slides into a seat about three minutes before his professor walks in, and only then does he stop to breathe a sigh of relief. But despite the effort he put into being on time, he doesn’t pay much attention to the lecture, too preoccupied with the song he and Patrick have been writing over the last few days. He knows Patrick would absolutely kill him for shirking his schoolwork for their music endeavors, but he can’t help himself. He likes music much more than he likes English.

He’s still working through some intricacies when he exits class and meets Patrick outside. “Got any lunch plans?” Patrick asks.

“No,” Joe says absently, more focused on pantomiming guitar chords.

“How about we swing by and say hi to Spencer then?” Joe grunts an affirmative response but it must not translate too well because Patrick clears his throat and stares him down pointedly.

“Was that a yes, guitar boy?”

“Hm, what? Oh.” Joe grins. “Absolutely. I haven’t had any of his magic coffee in ages. I swear, they’ve got some sort of special ingredient they aren’t telling us about.” Patrick gives him a look as they begin walking.

“Dude, it’s called caffeine and they use a lot of it.” He shrugs. “Nothing special.”

“Come on, you’ve been drinking the same shit I have, right? It’s golden!”

Joe laughs at the death stare he gets to go with the half-hearted, “Language, Joe.” Patrick’s concern for his less than saintly vocabulary is endearing. Like a mother hen.

“Patrick, it’s called ‘Tastes Like Magic Coffee,’ so obviously it’s magic coffee.”

“Seriously, are you that dumb? It’s just an appealing name because, like, marketing. Doesn’t mean they use magic. Besides, I’d only believe there was something to Spencer’s coffee if he had a little angel helper.” They step inside the coffee shop, and the bell over the door rings sweetly. “As it stands…”

“Yo, Trohman, Stump! What’s up, my dudes?” A gangly guy bearing a lopsided grin hops over the counter and greets them with a bone crushing hug. “Long time no see, yeah?”

Patrick untangles himself from under the arm trapping him with a laugh. “Yeah, Brendon, it’s great to see you again. Is Spencer around?” Brendon nods.

“Yup, I’ll go get him. He probably went out to see about getting more pastries from Ryan and Jon’s bakery. A couple weeks ago, we struck up this contract that if they bake things for us, they get part of our profit, y’know, since Spencer sucks at baking and I almost burned down the kitchen making an egg. Not good for business. Anyways, it’s a great deal, especially since they’re just across the street. So yeah, hang on, and I’ll be back in a jiffy!” Joe watches as Brendon sprints out the door and across the street, completely failing to stop and look for traffic. Which would be slightly more alarming if he wasn’t a full fledged demon.

Patrick flops down on one of the many brightly-colored beanbags placed around the shop and adjusts his hat. Joe sits down across from him in a green beanbag and looks around curiously. They changed the decorations since the last time he came, and the theme is a bit… odd.

Everything is as almost-offensively colorful as the beanbags—various splatter paintings (most likely done by Brendon) lining the walls, chairs and tables ranging in apple red, fuscia, violet, cobalt blue, and lime green, and even an odd lemon colored couch in one corner. The checkered ivory and slate colored tiles create a sharp contrast from the whimsicality of the rest of the shop. Gentle music pumps softly from the speaker system, loud enough to be heard but not so loud it’s distracting, and the shop’s lighting gives the impression that customers have stepped into another dimension, one where time doesn’t exist. They clearly designed the place to possess a calming atmosphere where anyone can come to relax and forget about life.

Of course, said serenity is shattered by Brendon bursting back inside with a shout of victory, Spencer close on his heels. Spencer looks about two seconds from murdering Brendon, but his expression quickly changes to one of surprise, then elation once he notices Joe and Patrick. Brendon smirks and grabs three bags Joe assumes are full of pastries from Spencer to take behind the counter. “Told you we had some special visitors,” he says, pulling boxes out of the bags and setting them on the counter.

“No kidding,” Spencer laughs, giving Joe and Patrick a hug each. “I thought you were just messing with me!”

“Ouch, Spence, that hurts. When have I ever—“ All three of them give him a look. “Okay, y’know what, never mind, stupid question. Anyways, you three catch up and I’ll handle this. Then I gotta go for the big meeting with the boss.”

Joe raises an eyebrow at Spencer. “I thought this was completely you guys’ business. Didn’t think you had a boss.” Spencer shakes his head with a small smile.

“No, you’re right, this is ours. Different boss. He means—“

“Our great lord Lucifer!” Brendon shouts from where he’s crouched behind the counter. Spencer rolls his eyes.

“Yeah that. Apparently every hundred years, all the demons in the world convene down in hell for Satan to address them all. It’s like, updates on Hell’s laws, refreshers on how demons should be handling their charges, things like that. Or so Brendon’s told me.” He looks over at Brendon, who nods before walking over to join the conversation.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. There’s also discussions on things I’m not allowed to tell you humans. Y’know, like hardcore Hell talk.” He pauses to think. “Oh yeah, and Satan updates us on his latest preferred name. He tends to get tired of one name, so he switches it up every meeting. Sometimes gender too. Like he was going by Victoria for a while there. But then she got tired of that, so next meeting it was Anastasia, then she switched back to going as a boy and was Lewis, and then last meeting he switched again… Yeah, you get the idea. Pretty indecisive guy. The point is, if I’m not there, I get obliterated from existence. Poof, gone. I stop being Brendon, and I’d either reincarnate as something significantly less cool or not at all. Super important.”

Joe stares at Brendon blankly for a second, though from a quick look at everyone else, he can tell he’s the only one confused about any of this. He clears his throat. “So, uh… Does... does Satan, y’know… well…” Brendon nods his head in encouragement. “Is, uh… can you tell me… what Satan’s going by… right now?... By any chance?” Brendon laughs.

“Sorry, dude, no can do. Really wish I could, but it’s policy that we only tell humans once it’s been changed again. That way no one’s pointing fingers at the unlucky folks who happen to have the same name as Satan and calling them the devil. I’ll tell you what it was when I get back though, if you want.”

“Sure thing!” Joe says. “I’m curious about it, not gonna lie. Aren’t you, Rick?” Patrick hums noncommittally when Joe looks over at him. “Patrick?”

“Yeah…” he shrugs. “I generally don’t pay attention to these demon happenings, but I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to listen. Not like it’s much different than angel meetings, except ours only happen every two hundred years and God doesn’t change his name… but I guess it could be interesting to hear about how hell actually operates. So sure, go ahead and update us when you get back.”

“Awesome,” Brendon nods. “Yeah, that’s awesome.” There’s a slightly awkward silence before he speaks up again. "So, uh, I guess you two probably actually came here for an early lunch…” Joe nods. “How about I get you your food before I head out? Sound good?”

“Yup,” Joe says, sitting down at an orange table close to the counter.

“Cool,” Spencer says as he and Brendon head behind the counter. “Just sit tight, and we’ll get it ready. The usual, I presume?”

“Don’t you know it,” Patrick says with a grin and sits down across from Joe. Joe kicks Patrick under the table.

“Do _you_ know what Satan’s current identity is?” Patrick snorts.

“I wish. It’d make avoiding trouble a whole lot easier.” He folds his hands on the table. “I can deal with demons. I mean, I sometimes like them even—take Brendon for example—but I don’t think I’d ever want to run into Satan. That’s too much Hell for me.”

“So Heaven and Hell just stay essentially… separate? No interaction?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“Why? Don’t you have to coordinate guardians and shit?”

“Language. And I don’t really know. We generally don’t mix well, angels and demons, so I guess it’s whoever gets there first for guardians. I mean most guardians are angels, which makes sense since God does all the creating…” He sighs. “I really have no clue, I’m sorry, Joe. It just is, and it has been for thousands of years—billions even, if you count the time before humans too. And it works, so we keep to the practice.”

“Hm.” Joe frowns. “I really wish I could know why…”

“You could always ask the big guy himself,” Brendon says as he sets down their coffee and food on the table. “I might be able to convince him to swing by some time. He’s pretty cool, you’d like him.”

“Wait,” Joe says. “You can do that?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Brendon asks.

“Well aren’t there like thousands of demons in the world? Are you saying you’re all close enough to be asking personal favors of Satan?”

“No, but I’m… kind of close to him. It’s weird, don’t ask.” He grins. “Anyways, I should get going. Wouldn’t want to be late. Nice seeing you guys!” And with that, he disappears. Patrick grumbles his discontent.

“No way are you meeting up with Satan,” he mutters after taking a sip of coffee. “I don’t care how harmless and sweet Brendon seems. I don’t trust the devil.”

“Oh relax,” Spencer says, coming over to stand by their table. “I know Brendon, and he’d never set Joe up for a meeting that’d get him hurt. Besides, you’ll be there and so will Brendon. What could possibly go wrong?” Joe glances over at Patrick and the look in his eyes says it all.

A lot. A lot could go wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing, dun dun dun. My tumblr is [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very bad at updating, I'm so sorry, and this chapter is not fantastic either. Pro-tip: don't do band and theatre because you'll scream and regret everything. Anyways, enjoy and thanks for reading!

Brendon inhales deeply the moment he lands in Hell. Home, sweet home. The sulfurous odor surrounding him is oddly comforting, and as soon as his eyes adjust to the dim lighting, he allows himself a moment to enjoy the scenery. Black sand and dust swirls around him as the wind whips by, and he shields his face, looking out from the rocky cliff he ended up on. He spots the large mass of demons congregating in the distance and grins in excitement. This is admittedly his favorite time of every century. He pulls his shirt off and shoves it into the waistband of his pants, freeing his wings. They unfurl behind him, large and black, feathers rustling as they catch the blustering winds of Hell’s eternal tempest.

After taking some time to stretch his wings out, Brendon shoots off from the cliff and glides down to join the rest of the demons. He lands near the fore of the crowd, just in front of the large throne seated on a towering platform rising above the crowd. Seven smaller thrones are lined up alongside the principal throne, four on one side, three on the other. One for each major demon.

Gluttony’s throne is the color of honey, gilded with colorful jewels that bear a strong resemblance to tiny candies. Sloth’s throne has a black frame, but it’s mostly composed of blue cushion and looks more like a glorified couch than anything. Envy’s throne is a dark green, with intricate purple designs running like veins across it’s surface. Lust’s throne is maroon with bronze accents scattered across it in a deliberately chaotic way. Satan’s throne is a simple grey frame with black designs carved in and a couple of red and purple jewels along the top edge. Pride’s throne is a royal purple bordered by a gold frame, and it has the highest back of the demons’ thrones. Greed’s throne is silver and gold, and it’s caked with too many gaudy jewels and precious stones. Wrath’s throne is pitch black with a single blood red line down the center.

Brendon flies up and takes his throne. The tall, skinny man in the seat on the other side of Brendon’s throne claps him on the back. “Hey there, Pride!” he exclaims. “It’s been a while. How’s life?” Brendon grins.

“Not bad, Greed,” he answers. “Business is booming for Spencer and we managed to get a business deal with cute guy and his angel. Oh, and we got to see some old friends today when they stopped by for lunch. You?”

“Oh, it’s lovely. See, unlike you, I’m a normal major demon and I don’t take charges, so I have time to make friends and get it on with random people. I’ve been dating this guy named William recently, and he’s gorgeous and a fantastic dude, but I think I’m rubbing off on him. It’s always, ‘Gabe, buy me this,” or, “Gabe, I want that.’” Gabe laughs. “And he doesn’t even know I’m the demon of Greed!”

“Uh huh,” Brendon says absently, looking around as Gabe turns to chat with Frank, the tiny, tattooed demon of Wrath. The other thrones are almost full now. Lust and Envy sit next to each other and are talking quietly while pointing at various other demons. Gluttony is eating out of what appears to be a sack full of green tea KitKats, and his brother Sloth is snoozing peacefully in his throne. The only one missing is the king of Hell himself.

Brendon takes out a compact mirror and spends about ten minutes fixing his hair, until the entire crowd of demons goes silent and Satan materializes in his throne. Though most come to the meeting dressed casually, the Devil is dressed to the nines, as if he were about to attend a funeral. Which, on second thought, he might be.

He sports a slick black suit and shiny black shoes, and his hair is styled to neatly cover one eye. His black bat-like wings drape lazily down on either side of him and small black horns are barely visible on the top of his head. Sitting there radiating power in his unnervingly nonchalant way, Pete Wentz looks the very picture of evil.

That is, until he breaks out into a blinding grin, all flashing white teeth, and booms, “What’s up fuckheads!” The crowd cheers loudly, and Pete looks over at Brendon with a smug grin. Brendon just rolls his eyes and flips him off. “Okay,” he shouts, and the crowd quiets. “First things first, we’ve got some new rules to cover and some old rules to review. We’ll start with the old.” He clears his throat and whips out a small book from his pocket. “Demons are not to…”

Brendon tunes him out, instead pulling out his compact again and messing with his appearance. He’s not the demon of Pride for no reason. Somehow he manages to find enough imperfections to fix for the duration of the half hour Pete spends going over rules and other tedious business. He’ll probably ask Pete for the five minute summary in private. Being a major demon has its perks like that.

“Okay guys,” Pete says. Brendon perks up and puts away his compact when he senses the change in Pete’s tone. “Time for the fun part! We’re gonna go over names. Most of you are stuck with your lot, but if anyone feels like you’re in dire need of a change, get the fuck up here.”

A couple dozen demons line up in front of the throne and explain their issue, after which, they’re either approved or denied. As usual, only about a quarter of them get their requests fulfilled.

“Now,” Pete continues, after the last demon is off the platform. “For our major demons. Not that I don’t love and want to fuck the rest of you—because I do—but these seven are my faves and if they’ve got anything to change, I’m down. So, we’ll start down there at the end with Gluttony. Any change, or are you still going by Mike out there in the human world?”

“Make it Mikey,” he says through a mouthful of candy. “And, Sloth’s still Gerard, don’t worry about waking him up for this.”

“Alright, my sweet little dude, will do. Oh, and toss me one of those, I’m starving!” Mikey throws a candy bar over, and Pete continues after popping it in his mouth. “Okay, next up, Envy, you got anything?”

She nods her head. “Still, Lyndsey, but make it L-Y-N-Z.”

“Gotcha. Lust?”

“Scramble it,” she says. “Halsey, not Ashley.”

“Nifty,” he mutters. “Pride? I’m guessing you’re keeping Brendon since you’ve got Spencer right now.” Brendon nods.

“Cool. Greed?”

“Can I make it Gabey Baby?” Gabe asks with a sly grin.

“Er… No,” Pete says, receiving an offended pout. “I can call you that if you really want me to, but you’re gonna have to live with being Gabe officially.” He ruffles Gabe’s hair. “And last, but certainly not least, so don’t kill me. Wrath. Still Frank, yay or nay?”

“Yay,” Frank answers with a thumbs up. Pete jots down all the changes before nodding.

“Okay. And now, for the moment you’ve all been waiting for. Who am I this century? Well,” he laughs nervously. “As many of you know, I chose to take a charge for the first time in history a couple decades ago. And that charge is still alive. So, this one time, I have to disappoint you. I’m keeping my name for another century. I’m still Pete.”

There’s a flurry of surprised whispering among the demons that Pete quickly silences. “Sorry guys, but I really don’t want to confuse Andy by changing my name on him. Like I’m sure he’d be cool with it, but that’s still not fair to him. So yeah, maybe next time, alright?” The crowd murmurs softly, sounding rather discontent, but Pete ignores them. “Cool. If you’ve got any issues with my decisions, you can bring it up with my pitchfork or something. Anyways, we’ve got more important things to do besides getting all frazzled because I’m not picking a new name.”

Pete continues on with the meeting by running a crash course refresher on taking care of charges, followed by a window for requests and suggestions for future amendments for Hell. Brendon takes the opportunity to get out his phone to text Spencer. “Fucking shit,” he mutters when he doesn’t get a signal. “Yo, Pete, I got something for you to fix.”

Pete finishes talking to another demon before turning to Brendon with an eyebrow raised in amusement.

“Don’t tell me it’s the phone signal issue again.” Brendon smiles sheepishly and Pete laughs. “Sorry, dude, but you can’t get signal in Hell. We’re like, in another dimension. We don’t exist on a plane that supports human technology.”

“Well that’s stupid.”

“Hey, sorry, I can’t fix this one,” Pete says with an apologetic shrug. “If I could, you better believe I’d be running a blog instead of holding physical meetings.”

“Whatever, dude, I forgive you. Just this one time.”

“You know you love me.”

“Debatable. Now shut up and finish this meeting. I want to get back to Spencer so he’s not running the afternoon rush all by himself.”

Pete complies without much of a fuss, and much to Brendon’s delight, everyone’s being dismissed within half an hour. After all the minor demons have left to do whatever job they need to, Pete goes down the line and shakes hands with all the major demons.

“It was good to see you all again,” he says with a smile. “You’re free to go now, which is the nice way of saying ‘fuck off so I can get these thrones moved back to the judgement room.’” He laughs heartily then and says goodbye to everyone as they disappear back to their own lives. When Brendon leaves, only Gabe is left.

Appearing in the alley behind the shop is disorienting, mostly because he wasn’t fully expecting the afternoon sunlight.

“Fuck!” he shouts, shielding his eyes. “Fuck this day, and fuck the sun!” Spencer must hear the commotion because he peeks out the door a moment later.

“Brendon?” Brendon dashes past him into the shop. “Brendon, you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Brendon says, blinking his eyes. “It’s just weird going from the darkness of Hell back out here to this godforsaken earth and its motherfucking sun.” Spencer laughs and pats his back.

“Well Patrick and Joe are still here, so I’m gonna go get them. We’re all interested to find out what it was.”

Brendon’s mind races to figure out what Spencer’s talking about. It... What is _it_? Then it hits him, and, “Oh shit,” he mutters. Because Pete didn’t change his name.

Joe, Patrick, and Spencer return, all of them looking expectantly at Brendon. “So,” Joe prods. “You gonna tell us what that name was?” Brendon laughs nervously.

“Well,” he says. “That’s kind of a funny story.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And as always, comments appreciated, especially if you notice anything funky or see a typo or something. Tumblr: [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, what is this? Two chapters in one week? This is madness! Anyways, hope you enjoy!

“Hold on, what now?” Patrick’s eyebrows are making a valiant attempt at becoming part of the brim of his hat, and yeah, Joe kind of agrees. Brendon just shrugs helplessly.

“Sorry Patrick, this has literally never happened before, like ever. Trust me, I’m just as… Uh, someone give me a word… Just as…”

“Flabbergasted?” Joe offers.

“Yeah, flabbergasted. I just don’t know why P— er, Prince of Darkness dude,” Brendon laughs nervously. “I don’t know why he’d suddenly decide to be the same person for another hundred years.” Joe glances over at Patrick, whose eyebrows have thankfully given up on their upward journey and are now furrowed in consideration. A smirk breaks out onto his face.

“You almost let it slip, didn’t you? His name starts with a P.” Brendon tries for an expression of innocence.

“No, I—“ he frowns. “Y’know what, I don’t want to talk about it.” Patrick just grins smugly, and Brendon groans. “Please just drop it, dude. Rules are rules, and as much as I’d love to tell you, I love existing even more.”

“But I’m right,” Patrick presses, which Joe finds hilarious. As much of a stereotypical, perfect, everything-I-do-is-pure-and-sanctioned-by-the-heavens-above angel Patrick can be, he does have his more human side. Including his ability to never let anything go until he gets what he wants.

“Yes, but—“

“Ha!” Patrick shouts triumphantly. “So what is it? Paul, Pablo, Peter, Parker? Peter Parker? Preston, Phil, Prince, Percy, Palmer, Pancho?”

“Polyphemus!” Joe crows.

“No, stop it!” Brendon pleads, and Joe laughs. “You guys are such a pain in the ass, goddamn.”

“Ouch, Brendon, that’s hurtful,” Patrick says in mock offense.

“But it’s true,” Spencer mutters, though he’s barely containing a smile. Joe laughs.

“I’m vaguely tempted to defend my honor, but, you’re absolutely right. I’m a real pain in the ass. Figuratively and litera—“

“Okay!” Patrick interrupts. “I’m gonna have to stop you right there, buddy. And also, language, Jesus Christ, how many times do I have to tell you?”

“It’s never gonna change anything, y’know,” Joe sings. Patrick just shakes his head.

“I thought I raised you better than this. Anyways, we should go. You’ve got a class this afternoon, and I’ve got some angel business to attend to.”

“Good point,” Joe says. He turns to Spencer. “Bye, man. See you later, I guess.”

Spencer pulls him into a hug. “Bye, Joe,” he says, then adds, “Thanks for coming by. We miss seeing you around all the time.”

“We’ll have to visit more often then,” Joe says, pulling away. Patrick nods in agreement.

“Most definitely.” He exchanges a brief hug with Spencer before Brendon yanks them apart and lifts Patrick off his feet in a bear hug.

“Bye, angel face,” he enthuses. “Come back soon, okay?” Patrick grunts and struggles against Brendon’s vice grip on him, but Brendon just tightens his hold. “Promise?”

“I won’t ever come back if you don’t let me go _right now_ ,” Patrick chokes out, somewhere between a growl and a wheeze. Brendon lets go then, with a half-hearted apology, and wraps Joe up in a somewhat less life-threatening hug.

“Later, Trohman.”

“See ya around, Urie,” Joe says, breaking the hug and patting Brendon on the shoulder. “Oh, and about that whole meeting Satan thing you mentioned. I’m totally down for that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Brendon assures, though Patrick fixes him with a murderous glare. Joe drags Patrick toward the door before he can cause Brendon any bodily harm, and Brendon laughs. “Bye guys,” he calls after them.

“Bye!” Joe hollers back before he’s out the door and headed for class, a less than pleased Patrick in tow.

“There is absolutely no way you’re meeting the devil,” Patrick grumbles. “Not as long as you’re in my care, which, last I checked, is for your entire life. You’re welcome to meet him when you’re ninety years old and six feet under, but until then, don’t even think about it.”

“You’re no fun,” Joe pouts. “And you can’t stop me anyways.”

“I know I can’t stop you, because like, free will and all that, but I can strongly advise you against things. And right now, I am strongly advising you against socializing with Lucifer. Just, for your own safety.”

“Look, man, I appreciate your concern, but I’ve already made my decision. I mean, how often do you get to meet the king of Hell in person? This is like, a one in a billion chance to talk to someone who really understands the workings of the guardian system. Like, from what I’ve read, only two beings are fully aware of how and why things go down the way they do, and those two dudes are God and Satan. And besides, Brendon’ll be there to keep me safe too, even if you decide to sit this one out. Crazy as he is, that is one loyal motherfucker—“

“Language,” Patrick interjects.

“Sorry. One loyal person who copulates with maternal parental units,” Patrick rolls his eyes, “so he’d never let me get seriously injured. Have a little faith, my dude.” They stop just in front of the music building, and Patrick turns to face Joe.

“Look, I’ll say it again. I trust Brendon, I really do. But if something goes wrong… What if he can’t do anything? What if he can’t protect you? What if _I_ can’t protect you. This isn’t just some random demon we’re talking about. This is _the_ devil. I want you to be careful, that’s all. I’m not asking you to back down, just… just think about it. Okay?”

“Of course,” Joe says with a nod. “I’ll see you after class, yeah?” He claps Patrick on the back and heads toward the door, but he turns and looks over his shoulder, almost as an afterthought, watching Patrick toe at a pebble. “Patrick?” Patrick looks up from the ground. “Thanks.” Patrick nods, and the corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile. Joe waves and Patrick disappears.

Climbing the stairs to his classroom, Joe can’t help but think about the strangeness of his life as of late. For starters, there’s the... whatever he has with Andy. He almost wants to call it friendship, but then again, he’s talked to Andy, what, twice? That’s not exactly anything except acquaintance with the potential to possibly become really awesome friendship, if they hang out again and if that happens to go well. Which brings up the issue of Pete and Patrick getting along because if they don’t, Joe and Andy have no chance at friendship.

And that’s the second thing that’s weird. Patrick’s animosity toward Pete is just bizarre. Joe’s never known Patrick to be a mean guy, and he’s usually cool with Joe hanging out with people who have demons as guardians. So the way he immediately assumed Pete to be a threat still doesn’t make sense in the slightest. He remembers Patrick saying something about how he felt Pete had an air of evil to him not present in other demons, and oh yeah, oddity number three.

Before Andy had shown up last night at Joe and Patrick’s performance sans Pete, Joe had never heard of human and guardian fighting so intensely that they need to stay far away from each other. Patrick had always told him that guardians are intended to be compatible with their charges in order to reduce friction and foster a sense of trust because the human-guardian relationship is the most crucial bond in a person’s life, and Joe can see that in his own connection with Patrick.

Sure, he and Patrick have their disagreements and minor spats, but it’s usually able to be handled with a bit of yelling and the ensuing apologies and talks. They can never stay pissed at each other longer than half an hour. Spencer and Brendon are the exact same way, so Joe also knows that it’s not a phenomenon exclusive to angel guardianships. But Pete and Andy? For some reason, their relationship doesn’t sit right or something. And judging by how nonchalant Andy acted about it, those kinds of disputes happened between them a lot.

And weird thing numero cuatro? The fucking demon meeting. What are the odds that Joe’s alive the one time Satan breaks a time old tradition? Probably astronomically low, but it happened anyways. And now he’s got a meeting with the devil arranged because, again, against highly improbably odds, his demon friend is somehow close enough in Lucifer’s social circle that he can ask weird personal favors.

Put it all together and… yeah, Joe really has a weird life, even for a college student. Those thoughts buzz in the back of his mind all through his music theory class, though he decides he deserves credit for at least paying attention better than he did in English. That’s a semi-productive day of class, right?

It’s about six when he gets out of class. Patrick’s not there to pick him up, so Joe assumes he’s still taking care of whatever business he needed to get to. He’s alright with walking home alone though, so that’s what he does.

He’s maybe fifteen minutes from his apartment when he sees the flashing lights. Curiosity gets the best of him, and he speeds up his pace to check out the scene. A small crowd’s already gathered, but Joe manages to peek over the top. His heart drops when he sees the crash, and he’s almost tempted to drop to his knees in prayer right there, except he hears someone talking about what a miracle it is that no one was killed or life-threateningly injured.

He pushes through the crowd, deciding it’s probably best if he gets home before Patrick starts to worry. He stops though, at a sound, and for a second he thinks his ears are playing tricks on him. But then it comes again, a familiar voice…

“Leave me alone! I don’t need to go to the hospital, it’s just a broken arm! Let me go!” Joe whirls around, and sure enough, Andy Hurley is being led toward an ambulance by three rather frustrated looking orderlies.

“Andy?” Joe calls, and Andy stops struggling to look over. He breaks into a grin.

“Hi Joe!”

And that would be weird thing number five.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments appreciated, especially if you spot any weirdness and/or typos. And thanks for reading! Find me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so it's been awhile, idk if anyone's still reading this. I apologize to anyone who's been waiting, I've been loaded down with lots of stuff. Cross my fingers, I can keep more constant now. Anyway, in addition to this chapter, I've edited the existing five, just for some weird continuity things and also some hella yikes typos. So enjoy, It's getting exciting now!

Joe has to be honest with himself— he never expected that he’d be sitting in a hospital room with the drummer of his favorite band, who’d broken his arm in a minor car crash two days after Joe met him. It’s surreal to say the least, like something out of a bad teen romance novel. But it’s reality, and Andy is currently griping about his imprisonment in his room.

“Why can’t I just go home?” he grumbles. “It’s not like it’s anything serious or life-threatening.”

“It’s like, hospital protocol,” Joe says with a shrug. “They have to keep you for a couple hours.”

“Yeah, but why? I’d be better if I could just get out of here and sleep at my place. It’s not like I’m getting anything out of just sitting here complaining.”

“Uh…” Joe thinks for a second. “Maybe they don’t want you leaving until the anesthetic wears off?”

“Huh,” Andy scoffs. “That’s rude. You could just drive me, and it’d be just fine.” Joe’s slightly taken aback by that, but Andy doesn’t seem to notice.

“Well, what if I’m some stalker fan—“

“You are a stalker fan,” Andy interjects with a grin.

“Shut up. But seriously, I could be a crazy fan who’s been acting all nice to gain your trust, and then when you least expect it, I kidnap you.”

“That’s true,” Andy concedes. “But I doubt it. You seem like a sweet kid.”

“That’s all part of my guise. I’m worming my way into your stone cold heart.”

“Likely.” That’s accompanied by a skeptical eye roll. “Doesn’t matter. Even if you are an evil, kidnapping mastermind, you wouldn’t get far before Pete—" Andy stops short. After a long, awkward silence, he goes on, quieter. “…before Pete stopped you.” He looks down at his lap with a sigh. Joe clears his throat.

“Um… where… where is… where is Pete anyways?” Andy huffs out a breath.

“Probably sulking around in hell. We’re still fighting.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Joe offers uselessly.

“Eh, it’s whatever,” Andy says. “It happens. He’ll get over it.”

“He better,” Patrick interjects, breezing into the room. He flops down in the chair next to Joe’s. “Like seriously, what kind of guardian just lets their charge break their arm and doesn’t even go with them to the hospital, huh? This is an outrage! If I ever get my hands on that slimy, low-down—“

“Whoa, holy shit, slow down there, Rick!” Joe says in bewilderment. “You don’t do angry, my dude. It’s just not you.”

“Yeah,” Andy chimes in. “No need to go all ham just for me. I can kick Pete’s skinny little ass myself if it comes to that.”

Patrick huffs. “Well, if you ever need any help with that—“ He shrugs. “Well, hey, let’s just say we angels aren’t always sunshine and flowers.

“Thanks man, I’ll keep that in mind,” Andy says, flashing a thumbs up. “But I’m gonna call him first. He may just be…. Out of it.” Andy grabs his phone off the table next to him and calls Pete. “Probably writing emo poetry like the angsty little demon he is,” he says, putting the phone to his ear. There’s a long moment of awkward silence broken only by the soft ringing of Andy’s phone, and Joe looks over at Patrick, who, unsurprisingly, bears a rather annoyed looking frown. Joe guesses guardians aren’t normally contacted by cell phone. Maybe there’s a rule against it? The ringing stops.

“Peter,” Andy snarls. Joe strains his ear to hear Pete’s muffled end of the conversation.

“Hey…” He sounds sheepish at least. Joe glances at Patrick to gauge his reaction. So far, he looks unimpressed.

“You little shithead, I’m in the hospital with a broken arm, and for whatever lousy reason you’ve got, someone else’s guardian is with me right now! Now get your ass in this room so I can knock your lights out. Bye.” Andy tosses his phone onto the bedside table and huffs. “Asshat,” he mutters.

Joe jumps when Pete appears at Andy’s side in a puff of smoke and… glitter? He grins at Andy awkwardly. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? _What’s up!?_ ” Andy throws his good arm up in the air. “I’ll tell you what’s up. You ran off, probably to pout and cry to Daddy Devil or whatever. We’ve cancelled two— _two_ —shows for your theatrics, so I’ve had to run around making excuses for you. And what do I have to show for it? A goddamn broken arm!” He punctuates every word of the last sentence with a punch to Pete’s arm.

“Ow, ow, watch the fists of doom, Hurley!” He rubs at his arm. “Goddamn, I’ll fix your arm when we get home, okay?”

“That’s not the point,” Andy says. “The point is I was worried about our fight and wasn’t thinking where I was going, crossed the street without looking carefully, and got hit by some asshole who doesn’t know how to look for pedestrians before turning right.”

“Yo, that’s not my fault!” Pete objects. Andy glares at him. “Ok fine, so I was the catalyst, I admit it. But you’re the idiot who walked out in front of a car, not me.”

“Hmph. You wouldn’t be saying that if it’d killed me.” Pete rolls his eyes.

“C’mon Andy, you know I’d never let that happen.”

“Dude, you weren’t even there.”

“I wouldn’t need to be!”

"Bullshit.”

“You doubt me?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’m not fixing your arm.”

“Yeah, well I—“

“Hey!” Joe interjects. “Cut it out, both of you.” They both stop and stare at him, and Joe can almost see the fury of hell in Pete’s eyes. “Are you incapable of talking like normal partners or something? Because you fight an awful lot for a pairing.”

“Maybe this is just the kind of relationship that works for us,” Pete says.

“Right, because this is definitely what ‘working for us’ looks like.”

“I’m with Joe,” Patrick interjects. “This is not how pairings work. Have you ever actually apologized to Andy before? I’m just curious. And I don’t mean like ‘oh sorry I stepped on the back of your shoe,’ I mean ‘oh sorry I hurt your feelings and then disappeared, leaving you feeling like absolute garbage.’”

“Are you saying you think I’m a bad guardian?”

“Sure, I think you’re a bad guardian.”

“You wanna tell me how to do my job?”

“Someone ought to.”

“What, you think you know better than me?”

“I’d bet my wings I’ve been at this longer than you have, split-tongue.”

“Watch yourself, death-herald.”

By now, dark smoke has begun to coil around Pete’s legs and his eyes have begun to darken, and a blinding light has begun to form around Patrick, whose eyes have gone entirely white. Joe glances at Andy and sees his own panic reflected there.

“Stop it!” Andy yells. Immediately, Pete’s and Patrick’s eyes return to normal, and the smoke and the light dissipate. They seem to realize what they just did at the same time. Humans can’t witness the true powers of angels and demons. A fight between them could’ve easily killed Andy and Joe. “Look, this hospital room has some bad mojo, so let’s get out of here and work out our shit somewhere else. I want to go home anyways.”

“I’ll go check you out,” Pete says quietly and leaves the room. Patrick and Joe helps Andy out of the hospital bed, checking that he can indeed stand on his own.

“Sorry about Pete,” Andy says. “He can be a bit disagreeable. Especially if he feels called out or something.”

“That makes two of them,” Joe jokes. He catches Patrick rolling his eyes.

“I still think he’s sorely inexperienced and therefore bad at guardianship.”

“I’m his first charge,” Andy admits.

“What?” Patrick says. “You’re joking.”

“No, he told me a couple years ago.”

“So he’s pretty young?” Joe asks. Patrick nods.

“For reference, you’re my seventeenth. I’d put him at around seventy years old. We don’t get charges until we’re fifty. I’d guess demons work the same way.”

“Ready to go when you are,” Pete says, breezing back in. It dawns on Joe that he’s changed his shoes into neon purple heelys. Andy and Pete lock eyes, and they both smile. The heelys must be some sort of inside joke.

“Wanna do this the quick way?” Patrick asks. Pete nods and wraps an arm around Andy’s waist.

“Hey, what are y—”

“Chill, we’re just gonna go through our dimension, back to our flat. It’s much quicker. Patrick, just follow me.”

Patrick walks over to Joe and puts an arm around his waist firmly. “Hold onto me,” he orders. Joe does as he says. “Alright, Pete, let’s go.” Pete nods and disappears with Andy. “Joe, don’t let go, or you’ll get lost.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Joe says meekly.

“Oh, and don’t look at me, if you can help it.” Patrick’s arm tightens around him, and a moment later, the room is gone.

Joe feels more disoriented that he’s ever felt before, his surroundings nothing but a blur. He feels disconnected from everything, like there’s a palpable absence of time. He’s seeing colors he didn’t even know existed, or at least he’s never been able to see them before. He’s not hot or cold, but he also feels like he’s going to get hypothermia and have his skin melted off. He sees indistinct shapes that might be faces, but he can’t tell. The combination of it all is worse than that one acid trip he and Brendon took back when Joe was still in high school. The only thing really real is Patrick.

But even he’s different. Against Patrick’s advice, Joe looks. There’s a shroud of light around him, and all the colors Joe can only see now are in that light, bending around him. His skin is disconcertingly translucent, and his eyes are white like they were when he and Pete almost blew the hospital up. And he doesn’t just have two eyes—well, it could be two—but the way his light blurs his features makes it look like a dozen solid white eyes adorn his face. And he really does have wings. They at least look like the beautiful features angels are supposed to have. They glow with the same light as the rest of Patrick, but it’s softer somehow, and the white feathers look like the kind of comfort that Joe is really gonna need after looking at his freaky angel best friend. Patrick turns his head and grins at him, and holy fucking shit, his teeth are long and pointed, like something out a horror movie. Yep, Joe’s gonna need therapy too, after this.

Then the smile drops off of Patrick’s face, and his arm loosens.

“Patrick!” Joe tries to scream, but he can’t, the word won’t come out, and Patrick’s arm isn’t around him anymore. The glow is gone, and there’s nothing but the faces and the colors, creeping closer to Joe, who’s floating helplessly in another dimension, unable to do anything but watch as the shapes close in.

He feels the unmistakable sensation of a clawed hand curling around his ankle, and he kicks and screams for all he’s worth. One face looms closer than the others, all glowing eyes, and dark veins, and white, pointy teeth like Patrick’s, except these are covered in blood.

“Joseph,” it whispers. “I can guide you home.” Then it opens its mouth and its hideous purple tongue slithers outward, the tip of it a snake’s head, opening its mouth to close around Joe’s throat.

A blood-curdling screech fills the space, and the snake recoils, along with the creature from which it came. The faces scatter, and the colors give way to nothing but darkness. A pair of hands grab Joe’s shoulders and yank him backwards.

He comes to with Andy and Pete hovering over him, a sweet liquid dripping onto his tongue.

“I think that’s enough,” Andy says. “Look, he’s awake.” The drip stops then, and Joe hears a cap being screwed onto a plastic bottle. “I can’t believe you keep that stuff in a Dasani bottle.”

“Where am I?” Joe croaks.

“You’re in our apartment,” Pete says, helping Joe into a sitting position. Joe looks around. The space is cluttered with old food containers (mostly pizza boxes), brightly patterned clothes that definitely belong to Pete, sheets of paper with words or music scrawled on them, and a set of mismatched chairs and sofas. The walls are covered in posters and pictures, along with the occasional sticky note.

“You okay there?” Andy asks. Joe looks over at him. There’s worry in his eyes, and he looks disheveled, like, say, he might’ve just revived Joe.

“Yeah… What happened?”

“You got lost,” Pete mutters. Joe tears his eyes from Andy and looks at him. Sure enough there’s a Dasani bottle filled oddly enough with a dark red liquid. Joe doesn’t want to know what it’s for.

“Where’s Patrick?” Joe asks, suddenly filled with dread.

“That’s the problem,” Pete says. “We don’t know. You two didn’t come through right after us, which you should’ve, you were right behind us, and we got worried. I went back to get you because I figured Patrick had just gotten lost. But you were all alone, and you were surrounded by spirits, and I—” He looks down at his hands. “I barely got you out. You’re lucky I’m—You’re lucky those weren’t very strong spirits.”

“But you didn’t find Patrick, did you?” Pete shakes his head glumly.

“No. He’s still missing.”

Well. Looks like Joe’s gonna need a search party too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My tumblr is [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the nice comments, everybody! Your support means everything to me, so much love from me to you!

“This is bad, this bad, this is bad…” Andy is starting to get dizzy watching Pete pace. All Pete’s attention is focused on his panic, so for the first time in the more than twenty years Andy’s known him, he’s allowing his carefully straightened hair to go curly in front of people besides Andy. His clothes have started smoking too.

"Well, obviously,” Joe mutters. “ _My_ guardian isn’t a deadbeat.”

Andy snorts when Pete glares at him. Not that Joe isn’t justified in snapping. After all, interdimensional travel was Pete’s idea. At any rate, the snarky comment at least stops his shirt from catching fire.

“He’s got a point,” Andy says. Pete just frowns and resumes his pacing. And his steaming. “Look, maybe he just got lost. I’m sure that’s easy to do.”

“But he still should’ve been here by now. He’d just have to come back over here, get his relative bearings, and then dive back in. Fuck.” He tears his shirt off when he says that, and Andy can see that he’s sweating and that his whole torso is glowing faintly. The last time this happened was when someone in high school had made some vile comments about Andy being gay. He’d heated up so badly that he singed off the kid’s eyebrows and most of his hair. Andy really doesn’t want that.

“Maybe he just doesn’t know where our apartment is?” Andy suggests quickly. “He may just be hanging around, trying to find Joe. He could’ve gone back to Heaven too, to reorient himself.”

“Good point,” Pete says, but he sounds rather unconvincing. “I’ll tell—I’ll request for a small search party of demons to help us look. And I’ll see if I can get in touch with Gabe to get in touch with Lucifer to get in touch with God about an angel search party too.”

“Gabe?” Joe asks.

“The demon of Greed,” Pete clarifies. “He’s a friend of mine. So, um. I’m gonna go now, see if anyone’s seen him, and if not, I’m gonna go look for him with whoever else can help. If I’m not back in an hour, that means we haven’t found him, but we’ll still be looking. Just stay here, and I’ll be back… sometime.”

He disappears, leaving nothing but his smoldering shirt and a sparkling puff of smoke.

“So…” Joe says. “Is the smoke and glitter a regular thing?”

“Unfortunately.” Andy stamps out the embers on the shirt and picks up the charred piece of clothing. Great. There goes his favorite Metallica shirt. He’s gonna kill Pete. “He’s got quite the flair for the dramatic. Want some water?”

“Sure.”Andy stands up and goes to the kitchen, tossing the shirt into the laundry room on the way.

Andy stands up and goes to the kitchen, tossing the shirt into the laundry room on the way. He fills a glass of water and hands it to Joe, who accepts it eagerly.

“Pete’s little elixir can do this sometimes,” Andy says, gesturing to the water. “I once got knocked out in a fight, and he used that shit on me. I thought I’d empty the Great Lakes, I was so thirsty.”

Joe laughs.

“What was that stuff anyways?” He hands the empty water glass back to Andy, and Andy sets it down on the coffee table.

“Good question. I think it’s demon blood.” The look on Joe’s face is priceless. Andy’s mostly kidding.

“So, uh.” Joe tries to discreetly wipe at his mouth, and Andy has to resist the urge to laugh at him. “You think Patrick’s gonna be alright?”

Andy shrugs. He’s got a lot of faith in Pete’s ability to rally all the angels and demons. After having played in a band with him for two years and having seen him do slam poetry, he can attest to Pete’s persuasive nature. It’s almost like being under a spell when he’s speaking from his heart. Andy has no doubt he can do that for Patrick.

“Probably. It’s likely he’s either looking for you or back in Heaven where God can help him out.”

“I guess. I’m just worried that whatever was after me could’ve gotten him…” Joe trails off and looks down at his hands miserably. Andy doesn’t know what that means exactly, but it must be pretty bad. Joe has this look on his face like he can’t get whatever he saw out of his head. “What happens if someone’s guardian is killed?”

“If Patrick was dead, you’d know it. Plus it’s not easy to kill angels and demons. Don’t worry, I’m sure Pete will find him.”

“You trust the demon of Greed to come through for him?”

Andy stops to think about that. Greed could have ulterior motives, like maybe he makes a deal with the Devil, literally, that if he helps he gets to use Patrick as a bargaining chip with God. Is that a thing? He knows that demons aren’t actually all bad, Pete being a prime example, but what if he can’t trust a major demon?

“I trust Pete,” he finally says. “He’s an ass, but he’d never let anything happen to Patrick.”

Joe raises an eyebrow.

"What makes you say that? I know for a fact Patrick isn’t exactly Pete’s biggest fan. That probably goes both ways.”

“Oh, come on, you can’t be _that_ dense, can you?” Joe’s eyebrow stays where it is. “Maybe you can. Anyway, what I’m saying is Pete thinks Patrick’s cute. Why do you think he crashed our coffee date? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not because he thinks you’re cute.”

“He thinks…Patrick…is cute.” Joe stares at Andy with undisguised amusement. “So he’s gay? Not that it matters,” he adds quickly. "I'm just curious."

“He’s bi. I think. He’s not super into labels, but he’s expressed interest into guys and girls.”

“Okay, so are you saying Pete’s only rescuing Patrick because he’s into him?”

“No, I think he’s also doing it for me because—” Andy stops himself. If he’s being honest with himself he’s always thought Joe was pretty handsome, but he hasn’t really thought much about any feelings he might have. He decides to not think about them for a little longer. “Because you’re my friend, and he cares about how I feel. I wouldn’t want you to be guardian-less. From personal experience, it’s not fun, and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.”

Joe gives Andy a look but doesn’t say anything else.

Time seems to go on endlessly while they wait. Once, Andy manages to draw Joe into an animated conversation about Star Wars, but it dies when Andy brings up how guardians are a little like force ghosts. He curses himself for forgetting that guardians and death should not be in the same conversation given the current situation.

He tries to talk to Joe about music but that only makes him more upset, because of course, he associates Patrick with music.

Andy looks at the clock when Joe gets up to go to the bathroom. He’d been avoiding doing that because he figured that’d just make Joe more nervous. It’s been over an hour. He hopes Joe doesn’t notice.

Unfortunately, Joe gets out his phone the moment he sits back down on the couch, and he grimaces when he checks the time. So much for keeping Joe calm.

“Why me?” he groans as he covers his face with this hands. Andy sits next to him and pats his shoulder. “So help me God, if I don’t see Patrick before tomorrow I’m gonna make Dallon—”

“Who?” Andy asks.

“Angel. He’s a friend of me and Patrick. I’m gonna make him let me into Heaven so I can personally grab God by the shoulders and shake him so hard that—”

“Woah, slow down there, little man.”

They both whip around at the sound of the new voice.

There, standing by the front door, is a tall man wearing jeans, a white dress shirt, a suit vest, a loose tie, and, bizarrely enough, a New York Yankees cap. There are tattoos on every body part that Andy can see, and the ones that stand out the most are the ones on his neck—a heart on the front, a fist holding a microphone on the left side, and a quill on the right side. He’s got gauges in his ears and some of his frizzy hair has escaped its ponytail to stick out in random directions, but for all that, he holds himself like he owns the place. Which is ridiculous because this is Andy and Pete’s apartment.

“Wh-who are you?” Andy stammers out, indignant. “What the hell are you doing in my apartment?” How dare this man just waltz into his place. How did he even get in? The door was locked.

“Relax,” the man says, striding on long legs further into the room. “Your buddy there was about to say he wants to shake me into oblivion, and I was gonna talk him down from that because I could smite him if I wanted to. So, y'know, maybe not the best move.”

Andy stares dumbly, but beside him, Joe clears his throat. Then he says meekly, “God?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who ;) (tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com))


	8. Chapter 8

“God!?” Andy repeats. Any other coherent thought he might have is cut off by the explosion of glitter that erupts in his face.

“Travie!” Pete cries, and when Andy looks up, Pete is in the strange man—or rather, God’s arms. “How’d you beat me back?”

“Well some of us don’t get distracted by puppies,” God says, dumping Pete onto the floor.

“Yes you do.”

“Not when I’m tryna find one of my angels,” God snaps. He turns to face Andy and Joe. “Hi, I’m God. Call me Travie, though. It’s much less uncomfortable for all of us that way. Wait a minute.” He looks accusingly at Andy’s cast. “Pete, you should’ve done something about that.” He snaps, and the cast disappears. “If you’re gonna neglect your charge, you might as well help him out afterward.”

Andy flexes his arm experimentally. It’s not broken anymore.

Joe has a dazed look in his eyes, staring up at God/Travie. God/Travie takes notice a split second after Andy does.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re Jewish aren’t you? So this is probably pretty surreal and definitely a little intimidating. Look, I promise I’m not as judgmental and punishing as Scripture makes me out to be. You just treat me like an angel and we’ll be all good.”

Joe nods, still with that awestruck look on his face.

“Can we tell them what we found out?” Pete says excitedly, scrambling to his feet and shoving God/Travie out of the way. It strikes Andy as odd that, despite being God and having a good foot on Pete in height, Travie just lets Pete get as pushy as he wants.

“Um, excuse me,” Andy says. “I think Joe and I deserve a bit of an explanation here? Why is God standing in my living room again?”

“Pete asked for my help,” Travie explains. “He’s got all his demons out searching, and he thought it might help if all of us topside went looking too. We’ve discussed what he saw when he rescued you, Joe, and we’re thinking that it’s gonna take more than mere angels and demons to get Patrick back—”

Pete clears his throat loudly.

“Wait, go back,” Andy says. “What do you mean, it’s gonna take more than angels and demons? What do you mean ‘ _his_ demons?’ Isn’t Pete just a demon too?”

Travie rounds on Pete, who gives him a sheepish grin.

“You didn’t tell him!?” Travie explodes, grabbing him by the shoulders and lifting him off the ground so they’re face to face. “You said you would!”

“I, uh, didn’t say when?”

Travie drops him again.

“Stupid ass.” He turns to Andy. “Well, I guess I’m gonna tell you then.”

“Wait no!” Pete shoots up from the ground faster than Andy thought was possible. “I’ll tell him now, I promise. But I have to be the one to explain or he’ll get mad and hate me forever and—”

“Okay,” Travie says. “Sheesh, no need to get all dramatic.”

“What,” Andy snarls. “Do you need to tell me?” Pete looks down at the ground, guilt written all over his face. “Peter.”

“I’m Lucifer,” he mumbles. “And I didn’t want to tell you because then you’d treat me differently, and I wanted us to be just a normal pairing.”

“Oh my Go—“ Joe stops, glancing at Travie out of the corner of his eye. “I mean, holy shit. That’s why Patrick thinks you give off bad vibes.”

“Do not!” Pete protests. “It’s not my fault Travie doesn’t keep his angels from gossiping about me. Just ‘cause my vibes are strong doesn’t mean they’re bad.”

“You bastard,” Andy says. “You’ve been lying to me all this time!?”

In truth, he’d had suspicions about Pete for a while. Angels steered their charges clear of Pete and Andy more often than usual. Andy’s friends’ demons never spoke badly about Pete and would change the subject whenever something of the sort came up. Pete disappears a lot of a guardian. Joe and Patrick had mentioned that they thought Andy and Pete’s pairing dynamic was off. And this whole time, the way Pete and Travie have been interacting. Andy mentally smacks himself for not figuring it out sooner.

“No, I’ve been omitting a truth. I never said I wasn’t the Devil.”

“A lie of omission is still a lie,” Travie mutters. “At the very least, you might’ve mentioned that you’re a major figure down there.”

“Brendon never tells anyone he’s Pride,” Pete counters.

"He's what now?" Joe asks.

They both ignore him, and Travie rolls his eyes

Travie rolls his eyes.

“But he told his charge at least. And it's different when you're the Devil. I told you when you said you wanted to be a guardian that you had to be honest. We agreed on that because there’s no protocol for either of us doing that, and you—”

“Can we please just find Patrick?” Joe begs. “No offense to either of you, but your squabbling can wait. I need my guardian.”

“You’re right,” Travie says. Joe looks surprised. “Priorities. Patrick first, Pete’s _omission_ second.”

“So tell us what you said you found out,” Joe says, looking at Pete.

Pete’s eyes light up and he smiles brightly, but it’s not in the way Andy’s used to seeing. This look is elated, and there’s a dark kind of excitement to it. Like there’s something terribly wrong, but it’s some sort of game to Pete. Really, if Andy had to put a word to it, he’d say Pete almost looked maniacal. It makes his insides squirm.

“We think we know who took Patrick,” he says with a little bit too much glee in his voice.

Travie must catch it too because he says, “Pete, this isn’t some sort of game, y’know. This is someone’s guardian.”

The grin vanishes off of Pete’s face, but there’s still that gleam in his eyes.

“Right,” he says. “Sorry.”

“Who the hell took Patrick?” Joe snaps. “I don’t have time for your dramatics right now.”

“Purgatory,” Pete says.

Joe looks incredulous, confused, and pretty damn angry.

“What the hell!? Is this some kind of joke to you!?” He grabs Pete by the shoulders like Travie had before and yanks Pete in close. “I don’t know what your game is, but I’m not gonna just sit around here and listen to your bullshit!”

“I’m being serious,” Pete says calmly, but Andy can feel the anger simmering just beneath. “I would never joke about Purgatory.”

“And lemme guess, Purgatory’s like you and Travie, huh? Does he have a nice, normal, modern name so he can interfere with our lives too?”

“No, _it_ never lowers itself to interacting with mortals.” There’s pure venom in the way he says that.

Joe leans in closer to Pete so they’re almost nose to nose. Personally, Andy would never have had the guts to challenge Lucifer so openly—though he supposes he actually has, just before he knew Pete was the Devil. Joe doesn’t appear to care though, and his grip on Pete’s shoulders only tightens.

“So,” he says. “You want me to believe that some mysterious creature just happened to be lurking right where Patrick and I were supposed to come through, even though it apparently doesn’t care about all of us lesser beings?”

“He’s right, though,” Travie interrupts, gently prying Joe’s hands from Pete’s shoulders. He pushes the two apart from each other. “It was probably Purgatory. Very few forces are strong enough to capture and hide an angel, especially one as experienced as Patrick.”

“And to be sure,” Pete says, and Andy senses that his emotions have settled again. He’s certainly volatile. “We had to come here and ask Joe exactly what happened when he lost Patrick. Then we can go from there.”

All eyes turn to Joe then, and Andy sees the fear written on his face, left bare without the anger he had before.

“Why don’t you sit down for this, Joe,” Travie says, guiding him to the couch. Maybe Travie has some calming powers of sorts. It’d explain how he’s keeping things from escalating out of control here. Andy takes a seat next to Joe, and as an afterthought, he grabs Joe’s hand and squeezes it reassuringly.

Joe clears his throat.

“So, Patrick and I were just going along, however we were traveling. Interdimensional travel or whatever. And he was holding onto me, and y’know everything was freaky and he was freaky, but he was Patrick. And it was all fine—weird, but fine—except at some point he just… wasn’t there.” Joe looks down at his hand clasped in Andy’s. “And there were these horrible faces all around me, but no Patrick. I—I couldn’t escape, it’s like I was trapped and just floating in that other world. Something grabbed my ankle, like a clawed hand. And this horrid thing came out of the faces—I mean it was still a face, but it was larger, and it gave off different vibes—like this thing was evil. It had glowing red eyes and teeth covered in blood, and it had a snake for a tongue, and that was slithering out of its mouth. And—” Joe swallows thickly. “It was horrible. And then there was this shriek that sounded like all hell breaking loose—”

“That was me,” Pete says.

“Oh, well then I guess that’s when you arrived, because then the faces were gone, and someone grabbed me, and the next thing I remember is waking up here.”

Andy watches Pete’s face carefully for his reaction. Joe won’t be able to tell what he’s thinking, but Andy can get an idea. Pete and Travie share a look, and then they both look back at Joe.

“Did the creature you described say anything?” Travie asks.

“It said, ‘Joseph, I can guide you home.’”

“One moment,” Travie says and looks at Pete. The two of them disappear.

Andy opens his mouth to say something to Joe, but nothing he can think of really works in this kind of situation. So he decides to just give Joe’s hand another squeeze, hoping that gets across his sincere desire to comfort him. Joe manages a weak smile in return, but his eyes remain sad and scared. Andy wishes he could take that away.

Pete and Travie return, this time with none of Pete’s usual fanfare. Just one more thing to send Andy’s mind into a fit of unease.

“So,” Pete begins slowly. “We’re now certain that Purgatory is responsible for this. Those words are Purgatorial if I’ve ever heard it.”

“Can you explain all this Purgatory shit?” Andy says. “Sorry, but Joe and I are a little bit lost here. Isn’t Purgatory supposed to be like the chill place between Heaven and Hell?”

“What the fuck?” Pete says. “Where the fuck did you get that? Travie, what’d you tell the mortals?”

“Yo, watch yourself, Pete. I didn’t tell them jack shit about Purgatory. They got there on their own. I just said people who don’t go to Heaven or Hell can also choose Purgatory. Or the Fields of Asphodel. Or whatever they heard when I mentioned it to someone.”

“And you just let them think that meant Purgatory was the place _between_ Heaven and Hell?”

“You know as well as I do how mortals put their own spin on things and you can’t just change all of their minds. That shit’s hard, man.”

Pete crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.

“Okay, whatever. Well, the point is, Andy and Joe, you gotta scrap whatever you think you know about Purgatory because that thing is not somewhere you wanna end up.”

“Right,” Travie continues. “Because y’all think Pete here’s the true evil in the world, but that’s just not true. Sure, he got stuck handling the wicked, but he’s not rewarding them, see—Pete’s job is to dole out judgment. If they’ve got a big problem they have to fix, they get sent off to punishment with his major demons. That’d be Wrath, Pride, Lust, Envy, Greed, Sloth, and Gluttony. The good ones can come to Heaven, and if they want, get rewarded for some special virtue. We got angels for that too: Patience, Humility, Chastity, Kindness, Charity, Diligence, and Temperance.”

“But… aren’t Heaven and Hell supposed to opposites?” Andy asks.

“Yeah, we get opposite souls, but we’re pretty similar. But not Purgatory. Sometimes people are neither good nor evil. Sometimes they had a pretty regular life. In that case, they’re given a choice where to serve out a probationary period. Some people choose Heaven because they think I’m all merciful or whatever. Some people choose Hell because they’re edgy—”

“Hey,” Pete protests. “Sometimes it’s because they know I’m nicer. I’m moody, but I’m nice.”

“Sure, whatever you say,” Travie says. He looks at Joe and Andy. “But some people pick Purgatory because they think it’s neutral and that they’ll somehow be better off there.”

“Which is wrong,” Pete says. “Purgatory lures people in with false promises—like what it said to you, Joe—but once you get to Purgatory, you’re stuck there. You never do what you need to do in order to eventually make it back to judgment. You just stay in limbo, and that kind of aimlessness can corrupt a soul. That’s what Purgatory wants because it feeds off of corrupted souls. The more it consumes, the stronger it gets.”

“Then why was it ever an option?” Andy snaps. “Sounds like poor planning to me.”

“Purgatory used to be like us,” Pete explains. “It wasn’t always a monster. It used to really be a holdover place for lost souls.”

“But I thought you said it’s not an in-between,” Andy says.

“It’s not,” Pete says. “Well, not exactly. It’s a totally different type of place. Okay, so think of Hell as prison and Heaven as home. Now think of Purgatory as a hospital. A hospital isn’t _between_ prison and home—and I’m not talking geographically. I mean a hospital doesn’t bridge the space between home and prison. But people who need help can go to a hospital. And it’s not supposed to be a permanent fixture either. I don’t think anyone plans for the hospital to be any sort of final destination. If you get better, you can go home. If you commit a crime in the hospital, you can still go to prison. You catch my drift? It’s not a perfect metaphor, but that’s the closest I can get to an explanation you can understand.”

“So are you saying Purgatory’s locking people up in its metaphorical hospital?”

“Not exactly. It’s fooling people into wanting to stay. It’s like an illusion of sorts. On the surface, it looks really appealing, and these people assume they never have to face true judgment by staying in Purgatory. But they don’t know the trade-off is that they rot there until Purgatory consumes them.”

“So if it feeds off of mortal souls, what does it want with Patrick?” Joe asks despairingly. “Patrick’s an angel.”

“Purgatory will take anything it can get,” Travie says. “And it might use a strong angel like Patrick to gain even more power.”

“B-but Patrick’s just… he can’t be any stronger than another angel, can he?”

Travie and Pete look at each other.

“Um, Joe,” Pete says. “Patrick… has kinda been keeping secrets too.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry, Patrick really is your assigned guardian—he didn’t choose a charge like I did. So don't worry, he's your guardian through and through. But he’s also the angelic embodiment of Humility.” Pete sighs heavily. “Patrick is the angel Humilitas.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun, crazy, evil, inescapable hospital... "Where Did The Party Go," anyone? I'm still on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so I know I absolutely suck at updating, and I'm sorry I left y'all hanging for so long. If you're still reading this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sticking it out this long. You rock! There's a lot of information in this chapter, and if all goes to plan, we should get some more action in the next one. In the meantime, I'm gonna also fix some mistakeys in previous chapters. Hope you enjoy!

Joe actually laughs outright at that. It’s not a happy laugh, though. It’s the borderline maniacal laugh of a man cracking from anxiety and disbelief all mixed into one very nasty drink. And that’s exactly how he feels.

“You’re shitting me, right? _Patrick_ is the angel of humility!?” he shakes his head. “Dude, do you even know him?”

Through his hysterics, Joe can see that no one else is laughing. Oh god, he really is losing it. All of a sudden, the humor abandons him, and he’s left feeling gutted and hollow.

“It’s not that much of a reach,” Travie says. “C’mon, think about it. You ever heard Patrick talk about himself?

 “Uh…” Joe cards through his memories, trying to think of a single instance of Patrick being boastful. There has to be something, right? But try as he might, he can’t drag anything up. “Huh. I never even noticed.”

“He probably didn’t want you to,” Travie suggests. “There was once, a long time ago, when he outright told his charge that he was Humility. That was a mistake. Y’know, we were a lot more secretive back then because just overtly telling people that you were their guardian angel sounded like blasphemy. But Patrick thought he really knew his charge, so he told her, and y’know, she took the guardian angel part alright, but as soon as Humility was out of his mouth, she ran for the Church and Patrick had to go into hiding and guard her from afar. Would’ve been even worse for him if he’d stayed—they’d have tried to execute him, and obviously he’s immortal.” He sighs. “Well, it was probably for the best that we decided he could never tell his future charges about him being Humility.”

“So I’m the first charge since then to find out?”

“That is correct.”

Joe puts his head in his hands, suddenly lightheaded from everything he’s just been forced to take in. Patrick is Humility. Patrick’s been kidnapped because he’s Humility and therefore extremely powerful. Patrick’s been kidnapped by Purgatory, which is apparently not a place, but a being on the same plane as God and Satan. God and Satan are standing in the same room as him, Satan being the guardian of the drummer of his favorite band _and_ the bassist of said favorite band. Oh, and God and Satan go by Travie and Pete. With every second that goes by, he feels more and more like his life is something straight out of a storybook.

“I think that’s enough history class for the day,” Pete says. “We need to discuss how to find Patrick before—before…” He trails off into uncomfortable silence and shuffles his feet guiltily.

“Just say it,” Joe groans miserably. “I already know.”

“Before Purgatory kills him,” Pete finishes, almost gently. Joe hates it.

“Well, first we’re gonna have to hop on over to the other side and locate Purgatory,” Travie says. “Which shouldn’t be too hard. It’s big and it’s got an energy about it that’s really easy to track. It’s not trying to hide.”

“It probably is now,” Andy chimes in. Both Travie and Pete look at him. “Oh come on. Think about it. It’s just kidnapped a major angel, and it has to know that you’ll go looking for him. It’s difficult to replace a major angel, correct?”

“I’ve never had to.”

“Well, based on all the lore I’ve read, it’s not an option we want to resort to. At any rate, if Purgatory is trying to hide, how do we find it?”

“Travie and I can see through all dimensions. Purgatory is stronger than all but us, so it might be able to divert our eyes for a while, but there’s two of us and one of it. Plus its existence is so marred that it doesn’t blend into the Ethereal Veil anymore.”

“The what now?” Andy says. Joe takes some comfort in not being the only one who doesn’t know what the fuck is going on.

“The Ethereal Veil,” Pete says. “It’s the stuff of the world, basically. Everything is made out of the Ethereal Veil, and everything eventually goes back to the Ethereal Veil. Y’know, from dust we come and to dust we shall return? Ethereal Veil.”

“Okay, well Ethereal Veil, Universe Sauce, whatever you wanna call it—you’re saying Purgatory doesn’t ‘blend in’ with it?” Andy raises an expectant eyebrow.

“Yeah, it’s one of the very few beings to become so evil that its texture changes,” Travie explains. Joe just sighs, exhausted from hearing so many things that he just doesn’t understand. He wishes they’d just lay it all out there so they could get moving and save Patrick. Travie seems to sense this because he puts a comforting hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Let me put it this way. Basically everything is fundamentally good. Even I don’t really know why that is, but Pete and I think it might be because everything comes from the Ethereal Veil, and what we think of as ‘moral’ is simply the resting state of the Veil itself. And we consider this state to be good because that is therefore our natural inclination, by way of us being of the Veil, which makes what we consider ‘good’ to be easy. And since ‘easy’ takes less effort and energy, and is thus more efficient, we use that resting state as our moral standard.”

Joe shakes his head, unable to figure out Travie’s words. Maybe what he’s saying actually makes sense, but Joe feels so sick and dizzy and overwhelmed already that he simply can’t accommodate all the information he and Pete keep trying to get into his head.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Travie, could you have been any wordier?” Pete says. “Listen, Joe, I’m gonna give it to you easy. The Ethereal Veil is everything. Conscious beings come from the Veil, so we use our resulting predisposition as our moral compass, so in some capacity, our idea of ‘good’ is just what’s easiest for our essence to emulate. However, Purgatory has become so twisted and its idea of good so warped that it can’t fit in with the fabric anymore, and that makes it highly visible. Capisce?”

“Okay,” Joe agrees numbly. Pete’s explanation makes more sense than Travie’s at least, and maybe Joe will get it once he calms down, but if he’s being honest, he doesn’t want the explanations. He just wants Patrick back.

He literally doesn’t know life without Patrick, and even before he really knew Patrick was something other than a childhood best friend, he somehow felt that they had some unbreakable camaraderie, some innate connection that just felt right. And even once his parents and Patrick explained everything in the simplest terms his five-year-old self could understand, he never felt that Patrick’s loyalty was contrived or just duty. And fuck, losing him forever would be the worst feeling in the world because that’s his brother. Not to mention—

“If we… don’t find Patrick. In time.” Joe sighs. “What happens to me, without Patrick?”

Pete frowns. “I mean, demons are really hard to kill, and I assume angels are the same, and I’ve never had a demon die during their charge’s lifetime, so… Travie?”

“Well, Purgatory’s never been bold enough to kidnap an angel before, so we’re in uncharted territory. I will say that it will probably underestimate Patrick’s power, thus giving Patrick a good window of time for us to find him. As for his chances of surviving—”

“I don’t want to know his chances!” Joe explodes. “I don’t want your grim predictions, I know the stakes, I know the situation. I need to fucking know what happens if Patrick dies!”

His outburst is met with deafening silence. His breathing comes loud and harsh in the sudden stillness. Travie speaks first.

“I don’t know exactly what would happen,” he says gently. “But I think you would be able to go on, possibly with a new guardian, or—” he continues at Joe’s obvious disgust— “without a guardian at all, if you so desired. But none of this is going to happen, I promise. We _will_ find him.”

“And we’d better get going,” Pete adds. “The longer we stall, the worse Patrick’s chances. So here’s what’s gonna happen, Travie and I are gonna—”

“Hold the fuck up,” Andy interrupts. “I know you, Pete, and I know if I don’t stop your sorry ass right there, you’ll give us approximately ten-percent of what we need to know before you send us off. So slow down, and consider that Joe and I are literally clueless about all of this.”

“Okay, fine,” Pete acquiesces, still stumbling over his words a bit in his haste. “We’re gonna send you over to our side.”

“You’re gonna _what!?_ ”

“Shut up, I’m not done. We’re gonna send you over, but just to my throne room. It’s probably the most stable location over there, and Purgatory avoids it like the plague—because uh, well because reasons. Anyway, we’ll meet you over there, let you get used to that side of the Veil, and then Travie and I are gonna do our deity work with finding Patrick, while you two do your human searching.”

“So we’re gonna be alone over there,” Andy says. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Pete glares at him. “Do you want to find Patrick or not? I mean, you’re welcome to sit here while we do all the work, but I’m guessing Joe would rather not. We’re not sending Joe all alone either. And you can’t be with Travie and me when we take on our purest forms because we don’t want to accidentally kill you. So logically, this is the most productive option. It’s not like you’re gonna get lost. Even though passing through earlier, it seemed like it’s just chaos over there, it’s really not. It’s different, yeah, but it’s mostly physical. Plus, Travie and I will be able to see you—or at least I know I’ll be able to see Andy, so don’t get separated—and if we think you’re in major trouble, we’re fully capable of pulling you out. Just trust me on this, Andy, please.”

Andy crosses his arms and doesn’t say anything, but Joe nods his head with a sigh.

“Whatever it takes to get him back,” he says. “I’m ready if Andy is.” He chances a look over at Andy, who’s expression has softened somewhat. He’s suddenly grateful that he has Andy through all this. It’s comforting to have another human to help him deal—God and Lucifer aren’t exactly on top of Joe’s heartening presences list. It’s almost strange to think that just a week ago, Andy was only the drummer of Joe’s favorite band. Now he has to be a friend of some kind, right?

“Alright, let’s go,” Andy says. “But just know, if Joe or I get hurt, or if your bright ideas cause us to lose Patrick, I’m holding you personally accountable.”

“That’s fair,” Pete agrees before holding his hand out for Andy. Travie does the same for Joe, and Joe has to steady himself against the dizzying realization that he is making physical contact with God.

“Hold your breath,” Travie advises. Joe takes that advice, and the next moment, the ground drops away from his feet and his vision goes dark. He’s glad he got a good breath because he wouldn’t have been able to breathe if he’s tried. Wind buffets him from all sides, and the hot air might’ve melted his insides had he tried to breathe it.

The jump only lasts about twenty seconds, but Joe still has to collapse onto his back as soon as he shoes hit the ground. The cool marble under his shoulders is like paradise compared to the sulfuric heat of the air. Looking to his left, he sees Andy also lying on the ground, breathing heavily, and beyond that, Pete and Travie standing with seven other people. Joe immediately recognizes one, even though his friend now sports massive raven-like wings.

“Brendon,” he croaks out, and his voice echoes through the large chamber. Brendon turns and his eyes widen.

“Joe!” He jogs over. “Pete, what’d you do to him?”

“I didn’t—wait, you know each other?”

“Dude, he’s Patrick’s charge, of course I know him!” Brendon and Pete’s bickering fades to white noise in Joe’s head as his mind flashes back to something Pete had said earlier.

“Wait, Brendon, are you the demon of Pride?”

Brendon blinks down at him. “Yeah, why?”

“Oh shittt,” Joe moans. “My life is so fucked up right now. Hold up.” He drags himself up into a sitting position. “If you’re Pride. And Patrick’s Humility. What the fuck?”

“Yeah, I know,” Brendon says, crouching next to him. “Unlikely friendship. He knows about me. And I know about him. But we didn’t want to stress you out. We’re not enemies, though. Just different sides of the same spectrum. I’m like his better half or something. Anyways, I’m sorry this is happening to you. Us major demons are gonna do all we can to get him back.”

Joe glances around at the other faces around him. Other than Travie, Pete, and Brendon, there are six unfamiliar faces. There’s two women—one with short blue hair and wearing a white crop top and high-waisted shorts, and the other with long black hair and wearing a yellow tee emblazoned with “SHITTY TEEN” and a plaid black skirt. And there’s four men—one short, punkish looking guy with enough tattoos to rival Andy, wearing enough layers that he must be suffocating; a lanky, sharp-faced guy and a slightly shorter, slightly softer guy, both with dark hair and wearing matching black jeans and leather jackets; and one ridiculously tall man wearing the most disgusting ensemble—bright shoes, bright pants, bright shirt, and bright hat—all of which seem to intentionally clash.

His eyes wander away from the crowd of (presumably) demons to the cavernous room they’re in. Frankly, it’s beautiful. The long hall is supported by arches that look suspiciously like bone from some leviathan creature—but that’s the only indication besides the sweltering heat that this is indeed Hell. The walls are entirely chrome silver with accents of gold. The effect is that of a mirror, and everywhere Joe looks, he is met with the reciprocating gaze of his own reflection. At the head of the room, presides a semicircle of sixteen gigantic thrones. The two in the center are the largest. They’re both grey with flourishing black designs spanning their backs. The only difference is that one is set with purple and red stones and the other is set with blue and green stones.

Seven smaller thrones sit to the left of the red/purple throne: one blue-cushioned seat with a black frame; one maroon with a dizzying display of bronze decorations; one black as ink with a line like a bloody gash down the center; one a deep purple with a gleaming golden frame; one jade in color with a vein-like purple pattern; one honey-gold, decorated with what looks like candy; and one silver and gold like the throne room and bejeweled even more than the center thrones.

A second set of seven thrones sits to the right of the blue/green throne: one a severe, straight-backed grey seat with no decoration to speak of; one soft, pastel green with little pink and blue gems on its border; one a deep, midnight blue set with what looks like actual stars; one an unassuming cream color with simple but elegant blue designs; one pale yellow at the base, fading up through, orange, pink, red, and purple, up to blue, like a sunset; one a harsh white with a single black gemstone at the top; and one a matte mahogany arm-chair with cushions that look like clouds.

By the time he’s taken it all in, he feels less nauseous, less dizzy, and less like he’s dying, so he slowly drags himself off the ground. Brendon leans down to help him, lifting him up and setting him down in a surprising display of strength.

“Thanks,” Joe says, taking a few steps while leaning on Brendon, until all the feeling returns to his legs. He notices Andy doing the same but being supported by the two men in the leather jackets, who Joe is starting to suspect might be brothers.

“My pleasure,” Brendon assures him.

“Hey, demons, let’s convene,” Pete calls in a voice that echoes far too loudly for how soft his voice sounds. Joe blinks, and to his bewilderment, he finds himself standing next to Andy in the center of the arc of thrones—now significantly smaller than before, accommodating Travie, Pete, and the demons in their human-sized forms. Travie and Pete reside in the center thrones, and Brendon and the other six people are in the thrones at Pete’s side. The thrones on Travie’s side remain empty.

“So this—”

“Andy, Joe,” Pete interrupts. “I should introduce you to my major demons. I’ll just go in order. This is Sloth, or Gerard.” The shorter man in leather waves. “Halsey—she’s Lust.” The blue-haired woman smiles. “Wrath—Frank.” The tattooed guy nods. “Pride—well, I guess you already know Brendon.” Brendon flashes a thumbs-up. “This is Lynz aka Envy.” SHITTY TEEN shirt woman inclines her head toward them. “This is Gluttony. His name’s Mikey and he’s Gerard’s brother.” Mikey waves in a manner eerily similar to Gerard. “And last and least, this is Gabe—he’s Greed.”

“Fuck you, man,” Gabe yells. “Nice to meet you, guys.”

Joe nods numbly. It dawns on him that all of the demons have the same wings as Brendon, and that Pete has bat-like wings and tiny horns. Travie has wings similar to Pete’s, though his are iridescent and seem to shift in the light. Joe can’t tell if he has horns under his hat or not.

“Are the other thrones—?” Andy prompts.

“Those are for my angels,” Travie says. “Diligence, Chastity, Patience, Humility, Kindness, Abstinence, and Liberality. They’re already out looking for Patrick. Since he’s one of ours, we wanted to get as quick a start as possible.”

“Oh.” Joe feels slightly better knowing that the search for Patrick is already underway, but not by much. He’s itching to get out there himself instead of waiting and feeling absolutely useless.

“You’re probably getting impatient,” Pete says. “So let me explain some things before we send you off. First thing you need to know: this is the Hall of Judgement. It is the single most stable location on the entire Veil, and now that you’ve been here, your souls will naturally want to gravitate back. So basically, if you happen to get lost on this side of the Veil, you just have to will yourselves back here by making the image solid in your minds. And only one of you has to be able to do it, as long as you have physical contact with each other.  Now the second thing: Joe, you’re gonna probably be the one to find Patrick. Why? Because he’s your guardian and you’re intrinsically connected to him. I know Travie and I said we can find Purgatory, but it’ll take time. You’re gonna be drawn to Patrick the moment you leave here. In fact, you’re the only one here besides Pride who is even capable of immediately sensing where he is.”

“And Brendon’s connection to Patrick isn’t as strong or accurate,” Travie adds.

“Right. And that brings me to the third thing: when you find Patrick, grab him and get back here. If he has the strength, tell him that he has to get you all back to the Hall, and he’ll know what to do. If he can’t, one of you will have to. And again, all three of you have to be touching for it to work. The last thing we need is for someone to get left behind.”

Travie nods. “A word of advice: you can’t fight Purgatory, so don’t even try it. In fact, if you can help it, don’t let Purgatory notice you at all. You get there, you get Patrick, you leave. It’s imperative that you return here as soon as you can because this is the only place on this side of the Veil where Purgatory cannot touch you. It’ll never come here because its soul is evil, and that kind of evil requires immediate judgement upon entering this hall. We can strip it of its power through judgement, which is exactly what it’s been avoiding.”

“Out of curiosity, how long should it take Joe and I to reach Patrick?”

“Hmm…” Pete tilts his head thoughtfully. “Time passes differently here,” is all he says.

“It could feel like hours, or it could feel like weeks,” Travie says with an annoyed glare in Pete’s direction. “I’ll be honest, I can’t tell you exactly what to expect, but on this side of the Veil, you’ll find that your need for food and water is nonexistent.”

“And sleep?” Andy prompts. He certainly knows how to wring out all the details that Pete and Travie would never think to share because they don’t find it relevant. Joe admires his survival instincts, almost as much as he admires his guts for fixing both God and Satan with his unwavering stare, as if daring them to deny him an answer.

“You might need a bit of that eventually,” Travie replies. “But you’ll find that your need is greatly reduced from normal.”

“Are we gonna need any weapons against, say, monsters akin to Purgatory?”

“You shouldn’t,” Pete says. “But just in case—” A line of strange instruments shimmers into existence in the space in front of Joe and Andy—“Both of you may have one. Any more would be dangerous for you to carry.”

Joe reaches out and takes hold of the golden dagger hovering just in front of him. His reflection shines in the blade as he turns it over in his hand. Andy grabs a simple grey rod and gives it a solid test swing above his head before nodding in satisfaction.

“Excellent,” Travie says. “I think you’re ready.”

Joe jumps when one of the mirrored panels of the Hall of Judgement swings away with a resounding boom to reveal complete darkness on the other side.

“Is that—?”

“That’s the Ethereal Veil. As soon as you walk through, you won’t be able to see the Hall anymore. To be clear, you won’t be in Hell. Try not to think of it as anything but the Veil. And just remember everything Pete and I have told you.”

“But—” Joe begins, but Andy’s already resolutely walking toward the open panel.

“We can’t prepare you any more than we already have, Joe, I’m sorry. Be brave, and trust your gut.”

Joe sighs and turns away from Travie. He sees Andy by the gaping void and slowly forces himself to walk toward him. This is for Patrick. Andy holds out his hand. Joe locks eyes with him, and hand in hand, they step out into the Veil.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I can't believe this fic has existed for two years now??  
>  Time is fake my dudes. Catch me on tumblr [@lastoftherealblues](https://lastoftherealblues.tumblr.com)


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